


Smoke and Sunshine

by GoldenDaydreams



Series: Necromancy!AU [11]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Magic!AU, Necromancy, RKbros, Siblings, Sixty's name is Rhys, Witches, brief appearance of other characters, coven - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23829031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: What seems like a typical morning jog leaves Rhys with a better understanding of his friend, and a brighter outlook.
Relationships: CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Simon
Series: Necromancy!AU [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1319477
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Smoke and Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on Discord-- and forgot about a detail and spoiled Resurrection so if you're reading these out of order, be aware that this one will spoil a major plot point. 
> 
> Takes place around chapter ten of Spirits.

Rhys woke, instinctively moving away from something before he could register what it was, his face wet joined the sound of laughter. “You fucker,” Rhys wiped the water from his face on the blanket, tipping his head to get it out of his ear. Noah stood there with a glass, head back as he laughed, and Rhys couldn’t work himself up to a proper anger. Not when Noah looked so light and happy for a change. 

“You said you’d be up for a run this morning,” Simon said, leaning against the foot board already dressed and ready to go. “Are you coming or what?”

“It’s still fucking dark out,” he griped as he sat up. 

“Yeah, well I have to open the shop this morning and-”

“Okay, okay, give me five. Can you fill my water bottle?” 

“Sure.” Simon tapped his hands on the foot board before pivoting on his heel and walking out the door. 

He rubbed his eyes and heard the glass get set down on the night table. Good. First thing he did when he got out of bed was get his little brother in a headlock. “You are such a little shit.” He knew he didn’t have much time, Noah worked out frequently and usually ended up on top when they roughhoused. Rhys however was able to reach back and get hold of the water dumping the remainder over Noah’s head, and he shrieked. 

“Keep it down,” Connor said from the doorway, halfway through buttoning his shirt. “Try not to hurt each other, and someone better be moping that water up.” 

“Yeah, okay, Dad,” Rhys said with heavy sarcasm as he released Noah, he had to get ready for his run anyway. He had half the mind to give Connor a hug, try to get his shirt wet just to irritate him, but Connor’s eyes had such dark bags under them—hell they were more like suitcases all packed up and ready to take off on a much needed vacation. Instead, he patted Connor on the shoulder on his way out. 

He pulled out some jogging pants only to check the weather on his phone and shove them back into his drawer. The afternoons were still warm enough, but the mornings were bitterly cold. He dragged out his thermal pants from the year before, a pair of shorts, rifled through another drawer trying to find a long sleeved shirt. 

Usually at this time of the year he would just take all of his work-outs to the gym, but Simon liked the company when he jogged, and maybe Rhys was a little on edge from the news that crimes against witches had gone up recently. North had mentioned that a thirty-five year old witch from a relatively prestigious coven had gone missing last week. It had the coven on edge, and they were all trying their best to keep an eye on one another. 

Once he was dressed, he walked to his closet and pulled out one of his bright red windbreaker, best to be visible considering it was still dark outside. Putting it on and zipped up, he followed the scent of coffee. As much as he wanted a mug, he knew it would just make him feel sick while running. 

Connor, Gavin, and Josh were all in the kitchen in various states. Connor sat at the island, fully dressed and already working on something, coffee to his right, a breakfast of finger foods to his left. Rhys stole one of his apple slices. Gavin was just in a pair of sleep pants, staring out the window with a coffee mug in hand, and not for the first time did Rhys note the various scars. Josh was still in pajamas with a mess of food in his bowl that looked like he’d just grabbed anything breakfasty and shoved it inside. 

“Where is your hat?” Simon asked, waiting at the door with his running shoes on, their water bottles both on the shelf. “And gloves.”

“Tucked away with winter stuff, haven’t dug it out yet.” 

Simon rolled his eyes, and strolled on by. “Get your shoes on.” 

Rhys heard Simon go down the stairs, and he looked at the long line of shoes hoping that his runners weren’t tucked away in his closet. He found them under a pair of Connor’s dress shoes, and put them on just as Simon returned with a hat and set of gloves. 

“Thanks,” he muttered. He wasn’t about to argue about it. Everyone knew he hated the cold. Properly dressed for the weather, they both grabbed their water bottles and stepped outside. 

The air wasn’t _freezing_ yet. He could see his breath as the sun started to rise. Simon had already started to stretch and Rhys fell into the familiar routine. There was a magic in the motions, it helped clear his head of the stress and anxiety that tended to cloud his mind. He forgot work, and family, only paying attention to the awakening muscles, and the tension leaving his shoulders. 

“How does a run through the park sound?” Simon asked as they fell into doing lunges side by side. 

“Better than down the street,” Rhys replied, he didn’t find running as relaxing when there were neighbours out, cars driving past, all the noise and smells of city life. He knew Simon preferred parks and wooded paths too, how could the geomancer not?

“Smartass,” he replied, giving Rhys a playful push that amounted to a barely there pressure on his shoulder. 

He shoved Simon back—an automatic reaction from having two brothers, only Simon was mid-lunge and fell over. He laughed, and Rhys held out his hand. “Sorry, didn’t think you’d go down so easy.” 

Simon took his hand, and yanked him right off his feet so they were both laying in the grass. “Sorry, didn’t think you’d go down so easily,” Simon said cheekily. Rhys only had a second to notice the yellow magic, and the puffy white dandelion, before the white fuzz was blown at him. Simon got to his feet before Rhys could even think of a way to retaliate. Foolishly trusting Simon held out his hand. Rhys could pull Simon right back down, but instead just let Simon help him back to his feet. “Ready?”

Rhys brushed away some dandelion fuzz and nodded. 

::

It took them a good fifteen minutes of alternating between walking and jogging to get to the park and by that time the sun was properly lighting the area.

Some of the hearty fall plants were still holding on in the flowerbeds. The trees created a canopy over the paths in a stunning array of colours. They jogged away from the playground, where the equipment was coated in a light layer of frost, and toward the forest path that went a couple of miles around in a large loop and came out the other side of the park. 

Living so close to the green space was a plus for the geomancers, or at least Rhys assumed so. He’d known Markus longer, but had in short time developed a stronger friendship with Simon. Simon liked the park and Rhys had been joining him for runs through it as the summer bled into fall. He was going to miss it when the winter finally settled in. 

“What time do you have to open the shop?” Rhys asked, checking his watch that gave him both the time and his heart rate. 

“Ten.”

“How is Rose?” Rhys asked, panting as he lengthened his stride to keep up with Simon. “She hasn’t come to the funeral home with deliveries lately.” 

“She’s well. A lot of fall brides have been having consultations with her.” Simon said, breathing heavier between words, which made Rhys feel better about the fact that maintaining conversation at this point was difficult. “It’s easier for me to just do the deliveries.” 

Their work occasionally overlapped, Simon delivering large funeral arrangements. It was nice getting to see each other through the work day, especially considering how emotionally taxing Rhys’s jobs could often be. 

“Your boss still a jackass?” Simon asked.

Rhys tapped Simon’s arm signaling to slow so he could get a drink of his water. He took a couple of small sips as they fell into a brisk walk. “Of course. Prick practically advertises that he has a necromancer on staff. He loves pointing out that it isn’t _technically_ a lie. I’m the one left with the fallout when I can’t do what everyone starts expecting of me.”

“You have to leave that place. Literally any other funeral home would be happy to have you,” Simon said. “You practically run that place as it is.” 

It’s not that Rhys hadn’t thought about quitting, but his boss frequently went on vacations leaving the funeral home in Rhys’s hands, and he genuinely liked his co-workers. Besides, any other funeral home he applied to would have to know that he’s a witch, and a classified 2 Necromancer. They could be worse. “Better the devil I know.”

Simon sighed, and Rhys could see his breath. Thankfully, Simon let the subject drop. They walked for a while, chatting about safer topics; the latest action movie that the coven had all gathered in the living room to watch, the preparations for Samhain only a few weeks off, Rhys requested Simon add a cherry pie to his baking and Simon had smiled and agreed to ‘take that under advisement.’ 

Rhys felt it, a shift, a flare. His senses weren’t that of his powerful brothers but he was still a necromancer. He grabbed Simon’s wrist and pulled him to a stop. 

“What?” 

“Shh,” Rhys hissed looking around. He’d heard enough stories about joggers being attacked on trails, and with witches going missing it had him extra on edge. “Something is dying nearby.” 

Simon’s eyes widened. “How close?”

“Has to be pretty close if I can sense it.” Rhys didn’t mention that if it happened to be particularly violent he’d be able to sense it from further away. A shiver ran down his spine remembering the warehouse they’d found Gavin murdered in, and how he’d been able to sense the shift in the aether from outside. 

Simon pulled away and started looking into the tree line on one side of the path. Rhys pulled him away from the trees. “What are you doing?” he hissed, making sure to keep his voice down. 

“Maybe someone needs help,” Simon replied, stubbornly pulling his arm away. 

“And we look like fucking targets!” Rhys regretted the bright red windbreaker, although Simon’s light blue one was no less conspicuous. Yet, he still followed along, looking in the low bushes and high grass on the other side of the trail, constantly looking back to assure himself that Simon was still with him. 

They were closer, he could sense it, something softly crawling along the aether. He reached out and grabbed Simon’s arm. “Over here… I think.” He did not want to be doing this. He dealt with the already dead and that was difficult enough. 

He stepped into the brush, Simon close behind him. They didn’t have to go far before Rhys saw the shroud, dark curling smoke, like his own magic calling for him. The shroud was so small that his heart leapt to his throat. Not human, he realized getting closer, a kitten. He felt sick with gratitude at the same time that he felt guilty for it. “It’s a cat,” he said with relief. Not some dying jogger like he’d thought on the path, and not a dying infant like he’d thought when he saw the small shroud. 

Simon crouched down near the feeble thing, picked it up with the utmost care and cradled it to his chest. “We could get it to a vet,” he said. 

“Won’t make it,” Rhys replied, tucking his hands into his pockets as his magic flared up. 

“It might,” Simon argued. 

Rhys knew it wouldn’t. He knew death like Simon knew life. 

The shroud darkened, and the kitten went still in Simon’s hand as he pet it with the other. The shroud dissipated into nothingness, to his knowledge, animals never lingered. 

He reached out, gently touching Simon’s shoulder. “It’s gone.”

“We can’t just… leave it,” Simon said, looking up with tears he was stubbornly blinking back. 

Rhys knelt down. “We can bury it.” It was the only thing he could think of that might make him feel better. 

Simon nodded, and Rhys let himself fall back onto the dewy grass and it didn’t take long to feel the cold right through his shorts and thermal pants. He kicked at the earth, digging it up with his feet until a small hole was created. 

The burial was a quiet thing. Simon gentle as ever placed the kitten in the hole, and Rhys didn’t mention the way he kept swiping at tears on his face. “I can’t-I’m sorry-” he stood and turned around. 

“It’s okay,” Rhys replied, taking handfuls of dirt, pausing only a moment before he gently brushed it over the kitten. He finished burying the kitten on his own, grabbed a large rock from near by and used it as a makeshift tombstone. He dusted off his hands the best he could, which wasn’t well at all. “It’s done.”

Simon returned and crouched down next to Rhys. “Thank you. You didn’t have to but-”

“Yeah,” Rhys said understanding. 

Simon reached out touching the freshly overturned earth, his soft yellow magic seeping into the ground and springing to life fresh grass and flowers that while pretty blended into the surroundings well enough. “I wish we could have done more.” 

“You did more than most,” Rhys told him. 

“So did you,” Simon said standing. 

They were quiet as they walked back, neither feeling much like running. Rhys was conflicted. He wondered if he would have just continued on had he seen the kitten on his own. Probably. That lead him on the dangerous path of wondering if it was his nature as a necromancer-to be less concerned with death, or if some part of his empathy had been stamped out by Amanda. 

“You’re quiet,” Simon said as they left the park. 

“I am quiet.” He caught the raised brow on Simon’s face, and amended with a, “sometimes.”

“It’s okay to be sad.” 

“Amanda hates _theatrics_ ,” Rhys found himself saying, and wishing immediately that he hadn’t. “I know,” he said backpedaling. “I know it’s fine to be sad, but I’m just not-” and then he realized how heartless he sounded. “I mean it’s sad, the whole little kitten dying thing but-” He tapped his water bottle against his leg. 

“It’s also okay to not be sad.” 

“Doesn’t that make me a massive asshole?” Rhys shrugged. “Maybe something is wrong with me, like my empathy got broken somewhere along the line.”

“No.” Simon stopped and turned so he was blocking Rhys’s way. “Would you be upset if I died?” 

Rhys felt sick even thinking about it, found the words all stuck in his throat for a second before he could force them out. “Of course I would.”

“What about if North was hurt?”

It was common knowledge that they didn’t get along, not any more. He remembered her, younger, a snow globe in her hand and the smile she’d worn for him. 

Something must have shown on his face because Simon sighed and reached out, grabbing his arm. “You’re not broken, Rhys. Maybe you have a different view on things because you’re a necromancer, or maybe it’s just something you’ve developed from work.” He didn’t bring up Amanda, and Rhys was grateful. “You help people through their worst days and let them put their loved ones to rest. Who could possibly carry the weight of letting every single death affect them? You’re a good man, Rhys. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Not sure what to do with the kindness, he nodded. “We should get back or you’re going to be late for work.”

They fell back into step with one another, but Rhys remained distracted. It wasn’t often he was complimented by anyone outside of his brothers—and less frequently was it believed. Simon didn’t lie, and even when he did he was a smiley, giggly mess about it—the man could not bluff to save his life. 

_You’re a good man, Rhys._

Maybe it was okay that he wasn’t quite as emotional as Simon, after all, who then would have had the heart to bury the kitten? Yet, Simon’s emotional nature wasn’t a downfall. If not for him, he probably wouldn’t have sought out the cause of death’s pull, because of Simon, they been able to keep the kitten as comfortable as possible in those final moments. 

They balanced each other. 

Their magic brushed as their hands nearly met. 

Smoke and Sunshine. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DaydreamsGolden) and as per usual, I'm hanging out over at on [ Detroit: New ERA ](https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm) there’s lots of fics, and fanart, and fun, so come join us <3


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